[TAPE 1, SIDE A]

BEVERLY JONES:

What is your complete name?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Annie Mack Barbee.

BEVERLY JONES:

And where were you born?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Manning, South Carolina.

BEVERLY JONES:

What is your father's name?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Necoda Mack—what you got on there? (Person answers: Charlie) Charlie N. Mack.

BEVERLY JONES:

And he was born when, do you know? I think he told me October the fourth, 1860.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Eighteen ninety or 1860. How old did he say he was?

BEVERLY JONES:

Let's see, he said he was almost eighty-nine years old.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Eighty-nine. That would be what

BEVERLY JONES:

You said you were born where?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Manning, South Carolina.

BEVERLY JONES:

Now your granddaddy told me that he was a tobacco worker. What is the impression of your father when you were growing up?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

He was a good provider and he was very, very strict.

BEVERLY JONES:

What do you mean by strict?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Well, had to go to church three times a day. If you didn't go and wanted to go somewhere in the afternoon and you was sick that morning, you couldn't go out that evening. You just had to stay sick all day long regardless of how you felt about it. And the church was a must. You had the family prayer on Sunday morning, read the bible. Everybody say bible for instance, before you could eat. That was a must. And when you had company at night, nine o'clock was the limit. They had to go home regardless. And when you went out you had a certain hour to come in. Eleven o'clock. Well it was all right providing where you were going, to

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a dance or something like that, he would extend the limit a little farther. And he was particular about your associates. You couldn't mingle with any and everybody. He had to know the family and the children themselves. And when you went somewhere to visit a child, you better bet he knew the people—the family, you know. And, well, we went to work real early—me and Mae, that's your mother. And when we became women, working, got grown working—'course I guess we should a been in school, I don't know—but he still was the ruler to a certain extent, you know. Then when we got eighteen the limit was off. He'd let you do, you know, do your own shopping or whatever you wanted to do with your own money. You were grown then, you was eighteen, then you could buy what you want, just give him something for staying there, you know. In other words, you paid board. But the other money, you could take it and do what you want with it—buy clothes or whatever, whatever. And then when you get short of money—'cause I've gotten a plenty money from them. I used to love the baseball games and when my money would run out, he'd loan you money, of course. He'd let you have money, but you had to pay it back, you know. But I think that was a nice way of teaching you to pay your debts. I didn't approve of it at that time. It really hurt me because he was my daddy. [Laughter] But when I began to realize later on in life, that made me want to pay my debts. If I borrowed money from somebody, it was instilled in me to pay it back, regardless of who it was. But I resented it in the beginning. I didn't like it one bit. But by him doing that, it instilled, you know, if we borrowed some money from some money from somebody, regardless of what it was for, we was supposed to pay it back. I liked that part of it after I got grown. I didn't realize it until I got grown.

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And we worked at the factory. That's all we knew about, working at the factory. Well, factory work was all right.

BEVERLY JONES:

Okay, let me get some more background before we move into the factory. So was granddaddy the backbone of the family or was your mother the backbone. I think his first wife was Annie Miller. So who was the backbone?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Of the family—he was. And he was the backbone of the family when he and Janet was living together.

BEVERLY JONES:

That was his second wife.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Janet Mack, yeah, that was his second wife. Yeah, let's get back to momma, that's where I'm going to go back if you don't mind. To my real mother.

BEVERLY JONES:

Annie.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Well, I can vaguely remember some of my childhood with her before we came to Durham. I can remember her cooking little johnnycakes and little colored things. Hanging 'em in a little flour sack behind the door in the kitchen. And somebody came through Manning selling these large bible story books, where you read stories out of it, to children, and had pictures, you know. And the one that answered the most questions—she'd have a question period after she'd read the story. And the one that answered the most questions would get the most cookies. I can remember a whole lot of my childhood with her at that particular time, because she wasn't sick. And it was a very happy childhood, very happy. She was a humble type of person. I've never heard her curse. She'd get angry but the anger that she got, you couldn't tell it because she didn't use any kind of bad words or nothing. And her voice never would get real loud. She was very humble. She was a humble type of person. Very, unusually humble. And she gave us principles to go by which I can remember so well.

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It was a very deeply religious background. I can remember that. She'd whip us, about telling stories—you know, children tell lies. And that's the worst whipping you could get, by telling lies. And she didn't do too much whipping, he always did it—father. She didn't whip too much. But she would have punishment you know—well you told a lie, you don't get no cookie tonight. Give it to the other person, the other child, a glass of milk and a cookie, but your punishment—you wasn't getting any cookies 'till the next day. That's the way she punished. She wouldn't give you nothing. And in Christmas time, she'd make all our cookies and things, and little johnnycakes. She had something, that you'd cut 'em out. Christmas tree, all that. She's very creative. I can remember her now, in the kitchen making Christmas cookies and different things. And she always kept some cookies for us, the cookies she made, 'cause along then you didn't go to the store and buy your children nothing. And at Christmas time when crops was bad and we would cry and she we couldn't anything, we didn't have no money. But she tried to make our Christmas very happy, as best she could, without the expensive things that children usually get. And we were happy 'cause we didn't know any better. In the summertime we didn't have nothing to play with, Go out there and get grass and pull it up, and the long strands down there—she'd go somewhere and get some old scraps and show us how to tie a ribbon—that was our doll. Tie a ribbon on the doll. And she'd go somewhere—she could sew real well. And she'd make these little doll dresses to put on that grass doll. It wasn't a doll, it was a grass doll. And probably take a cardboard box, put wheels on it, and the dog was our horse. Take that dog and the dog would ride us all over the yard. Now those are the things we played with as children. Homemade things. Just take anything

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and make something to play with. And I can see that dog now. Put the dog to the cart and one would ride awhile, and the other one would ride awhile. And those are the things we grew up with. We didn't have any storebought things. But she could always find something to make something. We were happy with it. We didn't complain. We didn't know anything about a whole lot of toys like children do now. We didn't know. We were very happy.

BEVERLY JONES:

I know in my interview with granddaddy he mentioned that she graduated from high school in 1911.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

She did.

BEVERLY JONES:

So was she a force in your life that pushed you toward trying to gain a type of knowledge in reference to education?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Oh yes, beyond a reasonable doubt. Oh yes, beyond a reasonable doubt. Oh yeah, she was.

BEVERLY JONES:

Now let me see, her background was what again?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Her mother and father were—well I won't say they were wealthy, 'cause when you say wealthy I don't know how you say whether it consists of how much they own or how rich they were. I'll just say they were well to do. They lived well. And they owned a lot of land then. She didn't know what it was to get out and work like other farmers in the area—their daughters. 'Cause her mother and father had a plenty.

BEVERLY JONES:

Well do you recall any instances of her feeling sort of downtrodden basically, since she was living in a type of, I would say middle class or well to do family, and then she became granddaddy's wife and of course things weren't as good as it was living with her parents. Were there any times in which she really felt very sad, or just felt completely upset because of this movement from …

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Oh, I get the picture now. Because of the environment that she came out of, the one that she went in when she married. I get the picture very clearly. Well by me being so young, it's hard for me to define that. But I do know that she stayed sick a lot, you know, kind of stayed sick a lot. But by me being a child I don't know how deeply rooted it was, or what it came from or nothing. But I do know she kept it hid from us. She was very jolly with us, very happy, seemly so. And when we came to Durham after Polly, my baby sister was born, then she really was sick. She wasn't well at all. She was sick, but she just held up, you know, because of us I imagine.

BEVERLY JONES:

Okay, she seemed to be a very strong and loving mother. How would you describe her?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

We don't have any of that humbleness from her. Some of us don't. Laura may have it. She was a meek and humble person. When I say meek, no outbursts, you know where you just rare up and pitch a fit and go to pieces. We didn't get that from her. Now I'll pitch a fit in a minute. [Laughter] I mean, I'll just take so much and then when I take it then I have to let it out, which I reckon is what makes you strong. But she wasn't that type.

BEVERLY JONES:

What about her physical features?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

She was a kind of low brown skinned woman with a round face. I'm trying to think who in the family favors her. Her face is very round, and she was little. Long black hair that hung down her back. She could sit on her hair, and we used to play with it. So I think she'd taken that after her mother—Indian blood. She had some Indian blood in her. Brown skinned. I wouldn't say she was pretty, I wouldn't call her pretty. But her features—she had nice features, you know, her facial features.

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But I wouldn't call her really sure enough pretty. She was very small and little. She wasn't tall, she wasn't a tall woman at all.

BEVERLY JONES:

Did she ever recall her parents. I know you said they were sort of well to do. Do you know the name of her parents—they were probably Miller's since she was Annie Miller.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Yeah, her mother was named Hester Miller. I don't know, I have to ask granddaddy what her daddy was named. We didn't never see him.

BEVERLY JONES:

Oh, you only saw the mother.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Yeah. We saw a picture of him in her living room. She had a nice living room and I asked her who that old man is. She told me one day, 'cause I didn't know who he was. And I'd go in there unbeknown to them and stand up and look at that picture, and I said, they called him Uncle Doc or poppa. I don't know whether he knows his real name or not. But they called him Uncle Doc—that's what they called him. Doc Miller. But I know he must have—I'm quite sure he had a name.

BEVERLY JONES:

Do you know how they acquired their land? Do you have any idea?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

No I sure don't.

BEVERLY JONES:

That was very unusual for a black family to have such a large amount—how much land do you think they had?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Well, as near as I can remember, they owned that whole area. I don't know whether you go by acres of land—surrounding the house. I can see that old house now. And he could have had more. Yes, wait a minute. I can't tell you how they acquired the land, because when your grandmother came to Durham, her brother—they called Richard Miller—bought her part out from the home place and gave her some money. She was getting ready to come here to your granddaddy. So it must have been

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quite a lot of land—for all the children to have a part in it. Every one of 'em had a part in it. And I think he sold his part out of it, to grandma. Anyway, he gave her some money. I don't know how that worked. And then Uncle Richard—you see when granddaddy died, from what I can understand—when grandfather died, he was what you called, if Wash had left Willie executive, then the executive—is that what the word for it?

BEVERLY JONES:

Yeah.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Over the property although Richard was the executive over the entire thing. And see by him being the oldest son, they helped grandmomma carry on. And somehow or another they fell out, they couldn't make it. And he took his part and went and built him a store beyond where she lived. And that's where he was living when he married. When he married after grandma died, he married again, then he went back to the home place. I don't know how he got back there, I don't whether he was in business or what. But that's where he died at, the home. place. So his son now owns the home place. It's a kind of tangled up. I was a child, I didn't know too much about it. But you know when you put one child over something that they don't mean to do right, they'll mess up. You have to be careful, who you put over it. But it must've been quite a bit, 'cause granddaddy figured grandmomma couldn't handle it so he fixed it up so that if he died Uncle Richard could help her carry on. And so, somehow or another, along the line they couldn't make it. So she just went downtown and gave him his part and he just went on about his business. But I remember my mother, she was supposed to be coming to Durham the next day. And he met her beyond the fence and when she came back she had a whole lot of money rolled up in her hand. I've never known why he gave her that money. She said, I saw your uncle.

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I said, I was looking right at you when you saw your uncle. She said he gave me some money. I said for what. She didn't say nothing, she just shook her head. And she went on in the house and went into her room there and put it in a pocketbook. But she still didn't say nothing to grandma. And I don't know what that was about up until the day—but I know I saw her 'cause I was standing behind her. She went right on down to the fence. He whistled for her and she went over there and he gave her a whole lot of money. How much it was I don't know. To this day I don't know why he gave her that. But her mother never did know it. You know, that was unknowned to her 'cause I think they fell out for some reason or another, they fell out. To tell you the truth, I've never know the whole story of why they fell out, but they fell out. And so she just took it in her hand and just told him he could get his part and he went on about his business.

But it was a large house, very large. Along then, they'd have the porch here, go all the way around the house. Something like these old—the ranch houses are something like 'em now. Only thing the ranch houses are not up. The ranch houses—you know the ranch houses. Start here with a porch and go all the way around. You'd walk from the living room—from her bedroom, all the way down, clean down a long lane, to the kitchen. Large house. But it wasn't a two story. Compared to the houses now, I wouldn't have it, the way it was built, you know.

BEVERLY JONES:

But it seems beautiful.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Yeah. It was a nice, very nice house. With rooms going to bed. You'd never go outdoors—if you come from her bedroom, by the living room. You start—here's her bedroom, come right on out down the

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long lane. And you'd walk, and you'd walk. Then you'd get to the kitchen. And then, because when you go indoors you could—yeah, the kitchen, dining room, bedroom, bedroom, bedroom—I'm trying to see if you had to go outdoors to get into—yeah, that's why I said I wouldn't have it. Each time you go in a room, you've got to go on this porch. You see, you couldn't go through. Now I'm seeing it now, why you couldn't go through, but you're still on the porch, you're not outdoors. Go in the kitchen. But you could go from the kitchen to the dining room—that's the only two rooms connected. You go in the kitchen and bring the food from the kitchen to the dining room. But if you go in the bedroom, you've got to go around that lane, go in the door, go out on the porch, and go in the door. That's the way it was built. No I wouldn't have it in this day and time.

BEVERLY JONES:

Let's see, what year are we probably talking about. What, nineteen hundreds?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Yup. Nineteen hundreds. My father came here in '22, he said. I can't remember the year he came here. It must've been 01900.

BEVERLY JONES:

Okay, so that means that everybody was brought up on the farm.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Yeah.

BEVERLY JONES:

And I think, in granddaddy's interview, the farm was not owned by the family, but it was rented from a landlord.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Well now, when he died he owned the house.

BEVERLY JONES:

Who was that, granddaddy? I didn't know that.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Probably didn't go into the details about that. He can't remember. That's why I have to—I'm glad you… Property from this old man, Mr. Dick Tilson, for years and years. Granddaddy did—my grandfather. Well he fixes up in his will—he didn't die but he gave it

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to him. He gave him enough money to build him a full room house with about a acre and a half of land. That's where we went to when we left here. He owned his home in the end, he did. This old white man gave him some money and he built a four room house and he had a acre and a half of land around the house. 'Cause when we went down there—father and I—we went when the house was about torn down. In the end he really owned his own house. That's where we went to when we left here. That house—he owned that—that was his house.

BEVERLY JONES:

So granddaddy owned his own—because his father gave him the land. Is that what you're saying?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

No, I'm talking about his father owned the house.

BEVERLY JONES:

Okay, his father. That's Charlie …

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Mack.

BEVERLY JONES:

Franklin Mack.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Charlie Franklin Mack. He owned his own house and about a acre of land. When we left here and went to him, that's where he was at and that's where he died at.

BEVERLY JONES:

Now where did granddaddy and Annie stay?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Out in the country on a rented—I can see that house now, Out way in the country on a rented farm. And then when he came to Durham she went to her mother's with us, and stayed there 'till he sent for her. With her mother.

BEVERLY JONES:

Oh I see. So that meant that granddaddy never owned any land at all, he only rented.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Only rented, he never owned no land. No, no, no.

BEVERLY JONES:

Now what happened to the house and the land that Charlie Franklin Mack had?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Okay. When he got so sick, our Aunt Bessie took him, Aunt Maggie took momma—grandmother. And when they died, Uncle Robert—that's your uncle—came up here and got Mr. O'Kelly. You don't know nothing about him, your mother and father knew him. To notorize some papers and they sold the house to pay for their burial.

BEVERLY JONES:

Oh, so they sold the house and the land.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

They sold the house, yeah. Sold the house and the land to pay for their burial expenses. And everybody had to sign it. All the heirs had to sign to get this money to pay for both of their burial experiences. And one couldn't do it without the other. So Uncle Robert came here for poppa to do it, 'cause he was living at that time. So he came here and poppa had to put his signature on it and Aunt Bessie and Aunt Maggie had to. Maybe the doctor bills, what have you—those two sisters had to use the money from the sale of this land to pay for their burial and what doctor bills that may have accumulated during that time. So they were staying—one was staying with one daughter and one was staying with the other daughter, and that's where they died at. And both of 'em—one of 'em was a widow. Her husband had died years ago. So that's the only way they could get any money to pay for the burial expenses, what have you. So they sold it. I don't know who they sold it to, but they sold that house. And the land.

BEVERLY JONES:

Okay, while growing up on the farm, the immediate white contact was the landlord. And what type of person was he, was he a good person to work for?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

I don't know nothing about him.

BEVERLY JONES:

You were very young.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Very young, I can't remember. But I do know when the bo weevils came through—they probably have already told you. The mule died. And what else died. And he was supposed to come and get the mule, and I got a first cousing—he's dead now—Joe. That's my oldest aunts' son. And Joe would come over there and help ma. He'd come over there every Saturday night. And boil peanuts. He'd boil peanuts in a iron kettle. And Joe would come over and help her do little things around the house until it was time for us to move from the farm to her home, that left my grandmomma. Getting ready to come to Durham, but before that Joe would come over there every Saturday night. Now I remember him telling my mother, he said if old McFadden come here and bothering you let me know, 'cause if you ain't going to—he cursed, I won't say the curse word—he won't find nothing here. Momma said, well the mule is sick. He said, let the so and so die. He said, I won't bury him 'till McFadden come here. But sure enough the mule died so McFadden—I can remember seeing him, but I don't know him—he came with that old mule. And Joe said, the so and so out there unknown do you want him? And he said no. He said, well you can have him. He said, you can take him and bury him. I think with so many difference against, you know, they take up all their livestock and what not, 'cause momma didn't make no crop that year. And so everything died, you know, the mule died. I don't know whether the cow died or not. But Joe'd taken some of the stuff and taken to his father's house to keep it. So McFadden couldn't get it, so he came there looking for something, but he didn't find anything. He knew Momma had to leave, she couldn't stay there. And whatever he came for, he couldn't find it, because I think the mule was the most important thing, but the mule died. Let me see,

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did the horse die, yeah, both of 'em died. But Joe wouldn't bury 'em, 'cause he wanted him to see 'em. But he saw 'em, this old McFadden, he saw that mule and thing out there. Then after he left, but I can't describe him. A little low looking man.

BEVERLY JONES:

And so Mr. McFadden did allow the family to leave without paying off what …

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Yeah, 'cause Joe—you see, Joe, my cousing, they had some words. And I don't know what their words were exactly but I know, knowing Joe, told him he couldn't get nothing if she didn't have it. Or something like that. I was small then. And so, everything he could find he would take it to his daddy's. You know, little tools around the house and the plow and all that. He'd take that stuff and carry it to his father, before my mother left. So the man really didn't have anything to go there and get but a empty house, and Joe saw to that. That's her nephew on my daddy's side. And so we left, and went on to her mother's. And they had to crate the stuff to bring it to Durham. And every time they'd crate something, the man at the freight station would tell Joe it was wrong. So Joe crated three times, I do remember that. Peanuts and peas and we'd put it in crates, stuff that the man was supposed to get and Joe wouldn't let him get it. The last time Joe went down to the station, the freight station, he told Joe it wasn't right. And Joe said, I did everything you told me to do. He said if this is not right—and I won't say the curse word—and he grabbed the man. And a man that knew my uncle, which was Joe's father, went and told Uncle Buddy to send Uly down to the freight station because Joe was fixing to kill that white man. So Uly got on the car and went on down there, and when he

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went down there, he said they were cursing like mad. He said Joe was crying. Well see, one thing about them, they didn't have to bow. Their father had a plenty. They'd been mingling with white folks all their life. They didn't go out and work on the farm like the most families. His father owned a plenty, Joe's father, my aunt and her husband owned a plenty. So her children didn't know what it was to bow down to white people. They didn't. And that boy, no way. So Uly had to go down there and get Joe. And so Joe said—Uly said, what's the matter, the man told me… So Uly got in with that. He said, well if this stuff is not crated right, and if you don't put this stuff on that freight train and anything happens, you going to hear from us. So the man let it pay. Didn't want it to leave.

BEVERLY JONES:

It's 01900's and they're talking about, you're white.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Yeah.

BEVERLY JONES:

It must have been a very reputable family.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

They was. Because here's why I say. You see, Uly was know all over Manning and surrounding country—towns rather. Because he had the only black mechanic shop.

BEVERLY JONES:

Oh.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

There's a connection there. Anything got wrong with your car, unless you wanted to take it to Sumter or somewhere, you had to go to him. Nowhere else to go. You had no choice, you had to go to him. And they knew, he knew what he was doing. He went to school for it. So whenever he spoke, he was heard. 'Cause if a man said, (nonsense), he said, no sir, you're going to put it on there. And he'd better get to Durham safe. Joe had to crate this stuff three times, and each time he sent it back. He said, now, it's not going back. It's not, and if

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anything wrong, you tell me right now what. And the man said, no, no, no, nothing wrong. And he had to hold Joe, and push him back, 'cause Joe had done grabbed him. See Joe was fixing to kill him. So Uly had to go down there and speak, and that stuff went on and came to Durham all right. Nothing wrong with it, it got to Durham. Poppa got somebody to get it from the freight station, it was fine. So you see, they didn't go humbling the white people. They didn't know what it was. In other words, to tell you the truth, they was just as—I mean they have just as much as the poor pecks or more, some of 'em. And Uly Miller's name was known all over that town, surrounding country. And they call, call Uly, tell him we had a wreck. Here he'd come with his wrecker. That was early. Didn't have no other. Had to. They didn't want to, but they had no choice. They had to patronize blacks when you ain't got no choice. They had to patronize him, they had no choice. Or send it with the car, some motor, send away to Sumter and get a wrecker, they had to use his.

BEVERLY JONES:

Do you recall what school did he go to to acquire this skill?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Somewhere in Missouri, I don't know. Yeah, it was in the state of Missouri, 'cause that's how he got acquainted with your cousin Susan. He'd go to school with her on his vacation or spring breaks or whatever you might call it—he'd go over to Ohio State with his uncle. See he'd go over there and stay with Susan then. Now that's how they—he was the first one in the family was known to that family. 'Cause none of 'em, they won't own him. They'd been knowing him for years when they were growing up, because he'd visit them. And go to Uncle Arthur and stay, and work around there in Ohio, and then in the fall he'd go back to school. Yeah, he was the only mechanic anywhere in that town.

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'Course there were some came later, but he was the only one, Uly Miller. Uly Miller auto and mechanic shop. The only one.

BEVERLY JONES:

Were there any other black businesses that you can recall of?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Yeah, oh yeah. Black doctors. Doctor Whitney, Doctor Brown, and I think they have some kind of printing something. Della White's father. But I can't recall no store being run by—oh yes they did. Aunt Allen and them ran a store. They sure did. 'Cause Uly built a store right there adjoined to the house as something for her to do, and he helped her. Yeah, she ran a store for awhile but she got so old, he had to do away with it. Yeah, she ran a store. See people'd come to have their cars fixed, and he could see to make a business.

BEVERLY JONES:

Right.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Buy loaves of bread and drinks and popcorn and ice cream and all of that. And when he'd work on the cars they'd go in the store, you know, and get something or another—refreshments. Yeah, they ran a little store, it wasn't a large one. Kind of a small place. Something like these little places we got around here. I'm trying to remember about the other black businesses, if I can remember. Manning was so small. I don't remember no store, no dry good stores, I mean. Clothing stores—I don't remember any of those. I know we did have a black doctor, Dr. Brown. Of course you know, you had more than one white one. But I remember him. He was the only black doctor there. And Stella White's father—I don't know what he was. I don't know whether he ran a printing shop. If he did, it had something to do with the Household of Ruth, that's something for women. That's a old organization for women—Household of Ruth. He had something to do with that.

BEVERLY JONES:

Was it a type of what?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Something like the Masons and Elks, something on that order. It's the oldest one I can remember, the household Now that's the oldest—all these others came up later. I can remember that Household of Ruth when I was a child. And it's still active. It's active here in Durham. I don't know how strong it is, but it's still active.

BEVERLY JONES:

Okay, let's go back to you know. I think I've got a substantial amoung of information in reference to the family background. Now, how old are you?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Sixty-six.

BEVERLY JONES:

Okay, and you went to—in regard to education, what grade did you go to?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Seventh. I hate it, but that's where I stopped at.

BEVERLY JONES:

Okay, so that means on the farm you went to school.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Oh yes.

[TAPE 1, SIDE B]

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

It got so dangerous. He would let us stay with his mother in town.

BEVERLY JONES:

What do you mean by dangerous?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Walking on the highway, you know, people picking up girls and things. We had to walk so far.

BEVERLY JONES:

Was there a lot of assaults against women in this time period?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Maybe not. But he didn't trust 'em. Especially on white picks. You know, old white men riding down the highway and stuff.

BEVERLY JONES:

Were they known for stopping women?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Well, he said they was. So he said it was too far for us to walk and he didn't have no way to carry us back and forth every morning

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and pick us up in the afternoon. He let us stay with his mother any time and go to school, then go home every Friday.

BEVERLY JONES:

So the school was in town.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Yes, lord, right in her back door. Oh let me see, how far was that school from grandmomma and them. About as far as from here to Miss Jones. Go right through their back gate and there's the school.

BEVERLY JONES:

So did you have a black teacher or a white teacher?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Oh yeah.

BEVERLY JONES:

You had a black?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Black, all black.

BEVERLY JONES:

Oh.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Though, I shouldn't say it, but I always—not so much as I did in my early years—I've always regretted that I didn't continue some type of education, you know, after. Even though, although working in the factory—it's no excuse. I could've gone and gone to school at night. I can remember every teacher I had mostly. Miss Reynolds, she was one of 'em. I'm going to tell you something about the school now. I can remember more about after poppa let us go back home to his mother and father. I can remember more of that school period than I did in the beginning, the earlier time when they both were living. This part, after mother died, and we went back to live with his mother and father, now that part …

BEVERLY JONES:

What year was that about?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Oh, she died in twenty-five, twenty-six or something like that I guess. But we did go to school down there. I don't—might two or three years out there. Now I can really remember that part of it. Used to have spelling matches. And I can remember, I'd sit up at night, and fractions—oh. Granddaddy and I—I always betted on him to teach me,

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not knowing, he didn't know. And I would sit up at night, and I loved arithmetic. I've always loved it, from a child. And I began to get in fractions and I wanted him to help me. And then they were making answers in the back of the book. You know about that don't you? Honey, I'd get that lamp, and grandma would just fuss. He'd say, leave her alone. He believed in education. Of course he didn't sent his children, but he believed in it. And I said, granddaddy. He said, what you on? I said, fractions. I said, I can't get it. He said, keep on working, is there answers in the back of the book. I said yeah. He said, you go to the back of the book and get them answers, compare 'em with yours. Honey I worked with them fractions and worked. Finally one night it dawned on me. I said, this is no good. I was getting answers out of the back of the book. I said, I've got to get it for myself. So I began to work those fractions from memory. Now honey, I worked on them. Miss Reynolds said, Ann. I said, Ann. She said, you got your lesson? I said, yes I have. She said, you got your fractions? I said yes, I got it. And ooh, you should've seen her face. She said, you mean, she said, I didn't tell you to do three pages. I said, I did five. It got good to me. And honey, I mean, fractions, ooh I worked. Lord have mercy. Of course I hated I didn't go on in spelling. I'd get to the head of the line. She says, okay I'm going to start off with you Annie. You lead it off. And honey I'd be standing there spelling and somebody would just pinch me, whisper in my ear. And she said, no you don't, no you don't. "Whisper in my ear, whisper in my ear." "No you don't." They would be telling me to whisper so you know, they would know they was next. She'd say, "No you don't." And they'd spell and sit down, spell and sit down. And honey, those children got angry at me… One boy

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offered to whip me. I had to go home and get granddaddy. Because they was having tests and I would help her correct the papers when we were having tests. She said, we're going to have a test tomorrow Annie. She said, I know you know yours. She said, I want you to go over these papers and get the tests ready for the girls the next day, girls and boys. And Herbert Gamber knew I was helping her. He told me, he said, if I don't, [Laughter] if I don't hand some answers under them school steps, I'm going to whip your ass. Scared me to death. I wouldn't tell the teacher, I told granddaddy. He said, yeah that old Gamber boy, he said, he's dumb and lazy. I said, he told me to put the answers under the steps, 'cause if I didn't he was going to whip me. Honey. And that's okay. So what time the test start. She said the test started about ten o'clock, children come in. Different children in different groups. Here come Herbert. Granddaddy went out there. He said, what you want Herbert. "Nothing, nothing." Grandaddy said, what you want. He said, now you going into school? He said, "yes I am." He said, "Annie's going in there too. And I'm going in there." Scared him to death. He told me, he said if you don't put the answers on the test that she going to have tomorrow, he said, I'm coming here and I'm going to whip your ass. No, no, big strong boy. I knowed he would have torn me up. So she had the test and Herbert didn't get nothing but D, D, D, D. And I was afraid of him, I ain't going to tell you no lie. Now I was actually afraid of him. So granddaddy said, don't be afraid of him. So unbeknownst to me he went and told Miss Reynolds the teacher. She said, okay, I'll fix that. And the teacher said, "Herbert, class is dismissed. You go out there and get in that buggy and go home. Right now." I loved—now that's the part I enjoyed in school I enjoyed those

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last few years of school after we left. You know, after poppa carried—we had to live with them. That's the last period of my schooling. I really enjoyed it. I was beginning to get the hang of it, you know. And I really, really enjoyed school. I just hated I didn't go on. Now if I had gone, my field would have been mathematics. 'Cause I love it. I'm not bragging Beverly, I'm not bragging at all. Louise never did like arithmetic. And now she says, "Momma." I say, Louise that's wrong. I says, Louise, learn to count money in your head. She says, "Momma, how do you get this to work." I said, no, count it in your head. And it would make her so mad. [Laughter] She would get real angry. I said, honey, I'm glad I do know how—I have to handle poppa's money and mine. I said, if I didn't know how to handle it, I'd be burned up. And I said, that's what I want you to learn. To learn how to handle money. I said, learn how to handle money. Sometime you're in a place, you ain't got time to get a pencil and a piece of paper. I said, rattle it off in your head. I said, just memorize it. So I'd give her so and so and so and so and so and so and so and just memorize it. And I said, whenever she don't give you the change don't leave, I said count it right there before her. I had to make her go out there to buy a record one day and I was sitting out there in the shopping center. And she said momma, she said I gave him so and so and so. I said, oh, to that there boy up yonder. She said, yeah. I said, now you go in there. I'm not going to say nothing to him. I said, you go in there. She said, I gave. He said, yeah, here it is. She won't thinking. She threw out a whole dollar. I said, I'm not going to be with you always. I said, you hand the man a ten dollar bill, I said you have in your memory what that thing costs. I said, and tax, I said, girl you better

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know what tax. I said, four cent on the dollar. Can't you put four cent on ten dollars or whatever it is. It's in your head. You ain't got time to get no pencil. I done breaking it with her about that money. I'd been really working with her about that money. I said learn how to calculate what you're doing in your head. 'Cause I can really do it. I ain't bragging on myself. No, I can do it, I can really do it. I'm getting older now, my memory on that ain't as good as it used to be. But honey, if you cheat me, you're the good one. I ain't lying. But that would have been my field, I'm just telling you. Had I gone to school it would have been mathematics. I love it.

BEVERLY JONES:

Well that's good. Let me go back to your education. Now the type of school, what grade did it go through?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Well the one I went to, it didn't have but one. It went as far as the eleventh grade I think.

BEVERLY JONES:

Well did you come in and everybody of the same age was there, the same grade, or did you divide up.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

No they had different sections. Fifth grade, sixth grade, seventh, on like that.

BEVERLY JONES:

And how many teachers?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Oh I forgot how many. There was a whole lot of teachers. Different teachers. In other words, to make it very clear, the teacher that taught the seventh grade, she had too many pupils for one teacher. I do know that.

BEVERLY JONES:

Now how was the school supported. Was it state supported or did the community support it?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Yeah, it was state supported. You heard talk of—Rosenwald used to go around and build these schools for black people.

BEVERLY JONES:

Yeah, Rosenwald, okay, a philanthropist.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Yeah that's what he was. But it was really segragated, I'll have you to know why I say that. Because our school burned down, we were living with grandmother and grandfather when it burned down. And instead of them building a new school, they hauled a old school. Of course we left there a little after that, came to Durham to father. Instead of building a new school they hauled a old school—out of fashioned—I don't know what you call it—on that lot. That's where it was when I left and came to Durham. Our school burnt clean—and I'm thinking, I'm trying to remember—yeah, the school we had before this one burnt down, was a nice school. It was a school for black folks and it was nice, but the one they moved over there was terrible. Old upstairs and—it was a terrible school. See we left and came to Durham a little after that. But I don't know where the schools are. I went down there and was trying to ask questions about the first one we had. And I do believe it was deliberately burnt. I've always believed that. None of those nice schools like that for no nigger children, no. No way.

BEVERLY JONES:

You don't have any idea who probably would have done it?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

One of them white folks I guess, because it was nice, very nice. Burnt down to the ground. And I don't believe they even tried to save it.

BEVERLY JONES:

Now your teachers, were they southerners or northerners?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

They were southerners, more than likely they were southerners.

BEVERLY JONES:

And you don't recall whether they got there …

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

But I went to school with a boy named Harrison Preston. That was a very influential family there. And his older sister—this woman had ten children. I knew his mother, she was a real missionary

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lady. She fell dead, died suddenly of a heart attack. Harrison was my classmate and every one of his sisters and brothers above him was teachers. Every last one of them. I can remember that. They didn't teach at that school where we went, Harrison and I. But they taught all over the county. And that woman, his mother—now from what I can understand his father died when they were young—she educated every last one of those older girls and boys. I know some of 'em went to Columbia, Allen University. Some of 'em went to Mars College, different places in the South. And she educated every one of 'em. He didn't have a older sister or brother that wasn't a teacher. Not nary one. I remember that well. So we got to arguing there one day, he and I, you know, would pick at. I said, how come you're so dumb and your sisters are teachers. And it made him hot. So he got so he got better grades than I. When I said that it made something come out of him. I said, why are you so dumb and all of your sisters and brothers are teachers. And I think it really made him angry. From then on, honey, the race was on. His grades just jumped up, overnight. Because see, he was so dumb. First he won't study in school, but after I said that word honey, oh we had a battle. We'd get to spelling, he wouldn't let me outspell him. I said, oh lord I got to study tonight, I said I'm going up against Harrison in the morning. And sure enough we would be in the stretch, he'd wink his eye at me. Let me know he won't get me today. Yet every one of and how they did it, I don't know.

BEVERLY JONES:

Okay, now, let's see, you said you are sixty-six years old. When were you married?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

October the tenth 1953.

BEVERLY JONES:

And how long had you known your husband before you married?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

About a year.

BEVERLY JONES:

And where did you meet him?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Let me see, I'm trying to think where I was. Oh yeah, through a lady named Victoria Lawson, 'cause she had a son named Jake and they were friends.

BEVERLY JONES:

What is your husbands name, his complete name?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Louis Barbee.

BEVERLY JONES:

Now where was he from?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Chatham County. It's down there near Apex.

BEVERLY JONES:

And what type of family did he come from. Do you recall who was his mother and father?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

His mother was named Edna Barbee. And his father was named Robert Barbee, Robert.

BEVERLY JONES:

What did they do for a living?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Farmers.

BEVERLY JONES:

Okay, so the farming tradition continues.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Yeah, farmers. Until they got real old, they wasn't able. They lived in a rural district but they wasn't able to do anything, you know. Just lived out there and the children would see about 'em. I don't know whether they got any type of check or—I don't know—the children, his brothers and sisters was talking about it. I don't know whether they got any type of check but I know they got some type of assistance. I don't know what it was. 'Cause I visited her in her illness quite a bit, his mother. Then after she died the father went to live with one of the other brothers. And that's another case. They don't know anything about his people, on their father's side. But that boy was trying to say

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he's been to Washington up there and so on. He knows about his grandmother's people but he was trying to trace down his grandfather's people. Robert Barbee.

BEVERLY JONES:

Yeah, and was having difficulty.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

He was having difficulty. And he told me that when he came he'd had a whole lot of trouble about his grandfather's people. But his grandmother was a Counsel before she married. So they know some of her people which helps. 'Cause some of her people are still living. She was Edna Counsel Barbee. Edna Counsel Barbee. That's her full name. So they wouldn't have any trouble, they want to find their roots about that, about their grandmother. But they had a lot of trouble on their grandfather's side. They're not having any luck about that. 'Cause he mentioned it when he was down here. When I was up there in March he mentioned it. They're going to continue to search and ask from some of the rest of 'em, you know, to help 'em search the family roots. So I don't know how successful he's been. I never known nobody but him but I knew some of her people, grandmother Counsel. I met several of them. His grandmother's people.

BEVERLY JONES:

Do you know if they own their own land or do they just rent it?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

No, they didn't own their own land but he got a uncle, which is his father's brother. He owned the land of his father's brother's—called him Henderson. Okay, Henderson owned his own house, a nice house. His wife died here about two or three years ago. Mabel, Nett, Betty, and John. He got four daughters. And all four got nice beautiful homes right around him. That's his uncle now, I'm just talking about his uncle. His daddy's brother. He got four daughters and he must own quite a bit of land around there. And all four of his

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daughters got houses right in hollering distance of their father. And let's see, who else is in their family. Well there's Aunt Roberta, she lives here on Dunbarst. Right there, she owns her own home, been there for years. Anna Lindsay, I think she built her house, but she's dead. That's the only one I know that owns property that I can remember. Yeah, he got a cousin, cousin, distant cousin. All of them. They're farmers but they only were farmers, they owned their own property. Right here in the rural district. Arnetta's daughter built her a beautiful big home. That's his second cousin, Arnetta his first cousin. And so I think Henderson and Roberta helped to own, owned her own home. That's his own, and still on his daddy's side. She owned her own home. But it's not a big fabulous house, but her husband's a farmer. She works but he still farms. He still raises tobacco and what have you. And Henderson, he's always working. I don't know whether he's retired. But I know he worked in Raleigh for awhile, until he retired. I think he's retired now. That's on his father's side. And so we of course, we didn't ever own nothing, you know. His father.

BEVERLY JONES:

How many children did you have?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

One, Louise.

BEVERLY JONES:

Okay, her name is Louise?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Yeah.

BEVERLY JONES:

Barbee.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Louise Valveeta Barbee. Just put Louise V. Barbee. I never could pronounce that. He named her. I never could pronounce that.

BEVERLY JONES:

Okay, what is your philosophy on rearing your daughter, since you only had one child. What is your philosophy about rearing children in reference to your daughter Louise?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Well, in my opinion, if you're going to have children, don't have 'em too late in life.

BEVERLY JONES:

So how old were you when you had Louise?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Forty-three.

BEVERLY JONES:

Well you married late.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

That's what I'm telling you now.

BEVERLY JONES:

Okay, he was your first husband.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

First husband. See I married in '53. Louise was born in '56. That's on her birth certificate. It's around here, she didn't take it with her, that's on her birth certificate. So I married late in life. But if you're going to have children, that's my philosophy—have 'em early. Not too early, 'cause maybe there are some things you want to do before you start a family. But don't wait too late. Because if you have children, you have more patience. Now having children late in life don't take the love away. I think you love 'em just as well if you have 'em early. But there's a kind of conflict between you and the child. You know, you're old, up in age—not too old, but old. And the child will say, momma, such and such a thing. She won't see it like I do. But when you're kind of young you can kind of relate to the child, you see. 'Cause you're kind of young and the children are young, so there's another meaning in there between you and the child. And so, I was fortunate to be near Polly in her early childhood. So she was a second mother, see what I mean. She could relate to her. And part your own—well, in other words, Polly'd take her children like her sisters and brothers. Her first early childhood baby like, she was up to her house because I had to work. So she was just a second momma, see. I didn't spend too much time with her, only at night 'cause I was working.

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Polly would keep her in the day while I worked. So I've gotten along well with her. One thing, I try to see with a open mind. And I do understand a lot. The children are different now—we have such a hard time. Now one thing I didn't do—I didn't try to bring her up like our daughter. I didn't want to.

BEVERLY JONES:

Why not?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

I wanted her to go but come back. I didn't put that so nough strictness on her, you know. She wouldn't take it, she wouldn't accept it had I gone along with it. The way I was raised that wouldn't have worked at all. I know she wanted to go and I wanted her to go. She wanted to be like others. And I remember a incident. These children were going to DTI (Durham Technical Institute) to a [interruption]

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

You got to know where to draw the line between permissiveness and, you know, permission, with children. You got to know where to draw the line. That's hard sometimes. You let 'em go and do too much, then you try to hold 'em back. Now that is hard. Don't you let nobody fool you. And then you want to let 'em hang out on their own and then you interfere and they rebel. That's another hard thing. They rebel. "Oh mommy, I know what I'm doing." I said, now what can you do. And the thing—in other words, they rebel against you and you drive 'em in the very thing you don't want 'em to get in. And it's hard, and you don't mean to be hard on 'em, in those ways. But, you draw the line, you draw it too tight or you slack it up, and here you go.

BEVERLY JONES:

The same situation develops.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Same thing develops. It's no different. You let 'em go too much. Then you keep 'em home too much. And then you say, I got a lady called me last night sometime. She said to me, Mrs. Barbee, where

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did I go wrong at. And see I know, because Louise and her children grew up together partly. She said, I let 'em go and I give 'em permission. She's a much younger woman than I am. She said, I let 'em go, and they don't respect me one bit. And I said, one thing Mrs. Brown, children grow up over night. Did I say Mrs. Brown? I didn't mean to call her her name. [Laughter]

BEVERLY JONES:

Well I don't think anybody would know it.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Well anyway, I said children grow up over night. And when you do your very best—I said, and it's another thing being parents. I said, don't think of blaming yourself too much, it's the age that we're living in. They hold 'em too tight. That's dangerous, that's a whole lot worse I think. When you hold—they haven't been out there to find out what it's all about. They are not equipped to meet it, you know. You're just holding 'em. Then when you let 'em go, and they're heading into danger and you know it. You know it, you see the danger. Then you tell 'em about it and try to hold 'em back and they rebel. I don't think they mean to do it—they rebel against you. You're their target. They rebel against you, and it make me sick, I can't go, I can't do this and I can't do that—let me live my life. Well you don't want surrender. You keep on bumping at that thing and harping at you. You won't surrender. You talk and talk and talk. So finally you do surrender. But when you surrender, don't give yourself the credit. They've seen where they were wrong, but they ain't going to give you no credit for that. 'Cause a incident happened to me. Louise left, and I begged and I cried. Going down there to Fayetteville to see a vet—she met a guy. I liked the guy, I did. Really frankly speaking, I ain't going to tell no lie, I really liked him. But, he was married. He wasn't living with

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his wife. And I saw danger there. She'd go down there every weekend. And I cried. I wrote the vet some letters and all. And I cried and I cried. And I would tell her not to go. And after the boy finally, he said, Louise what's the big rush. I'd answer the phone and he'd get out about coming down there. So you know what happened in that case. The last time she went down there he broke it off his self. I just gave it up. He told Louise, he said, "Louise some day you're going to thank me for this." So I told her, I said he was a gentleman. I said, if you all never see each other again, I'll always remember him. His name was Marshall MacMillan. She said, "Why do you say that?" I said because of the fact that at the rate you were going, he could a used you. And he was too much of a gentleman to use you. And I said, I'll always thank him for it. He could a used her, just used her, because he saw where she was heading. But he just broke it off. He came in here and Louise got hot to sit right there. And I talked to him. I said, she's rather young and she hasn't been out there, she don't know nothing. And I don't want her to get hurt. I said, I understand you and your wife separated. I said, that's a personal thing. I said, but you all are going to different places and I don't know the type of life you had. [interruption]

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Came here one Friday evening, I'll never forget it. Just crying, oh boy, was she crying. I got sick as a dog. She was just crying and crying. She said, "Momma, I wish I had listened at you." I said, lord. She said, "What." I didn't question, he broke it off. And she cried and she cried. So I said to Vets, I said, you know I was thinking about that thing. I said Marshall could've used Louise, but he didn't do it, he was too much of a gentleman. He could've had her running down there every five minutes. The way she was going, he could get out about going. But you see, I don't know what happened between

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them. But she came and told me she wished she had a listened at me. But I don't know whether that was it or not. She just seen the thing, the situation, for herself. I'd been crying, and oh lord, I worried so. I don't know whether me interfering in her life like that had an impact on her emotional life. But I just couldn't sit here and keep my mouth shut. I couldn't do it. No mother does. I didn't fuss for her. Just, "got anything to tell me before I go." I'd be laying right here on the bed, she was getting ready to go. I said, no. She said, "Are you sure?" I said, yeah. Crying up a mess. Oh god, just crying. Not crying that the boy was going to hurt her—he was too much of a gentleman. I was crying because a situation may have developed. See he separated from his wife unknown somebody get hurt. That's what I was crying for. 'Cause I had already talked with him about it. I said, I don't want her to get hurt. I said, I don't know your wife. He was in the hospital and he called and told her when he was in the hospital and all that. Now I don't know whether she blamed me for that or not. I don't know. But if she blames me for anything I've said in her life, that's allright, I'm not worried about it. Because I knew if that had kept up, something was going to develop.

BEVERLY JONES:

Now what is your daughter doing now?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

She's in D.C. getting a job. She's supposed to be interviewed for a job today.

BEVERLY JONES:

And she is in school.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Yeah. She got a paper to go back in September. Hopefully that she will.

BEVERLY JONES:

So she'll be a senior.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Yeah.

BEVERLY JONES:

At North Carolina Central University.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Yeah.

BEVERLY JONES:

When did your husband die?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

October the 19, 1966.

BEVERLY JONES:

And was it very difficult for you to make it economically and socially after his death. Especially having a daughter who probably at this time was about—Louise was born in…

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

She was nine. Nine years old. Nine, she was ten December—he was already dead. Yes, it was very difficult. Economically, socially, and everything else. Because of the fact—I had to be two parents in one. Two of 'em. And at that early stage it wasn't too much of a problem. It was more economical than anything else, 'cause she hadn't got out into the social light. You know, like young girls get. She hadn't never got out into that. But when she began to get in the social light, I had to be the spokesman, trying to tell her what's right and what's wrong. And telling her what's out there. And I had to keep it up continuously, telling her that I don't care who go out there and do something and get by with it, you can't. Just be yourself. And I've told her, I've said, Louise—and I've told others that were involved in it—I said, now if you do wrong, do it 'cause you want to do it. I've told her that more than one time. I said, if you go out here and get drunk, get drunk 'cause you want to get drunk. I said, there's liquor out there, drink it because you want to drink it. Don't drink it for nobody else. 'Cause somebody else will go out there and get drunk and they've been doing it for years, it won't scar them much. They could probably handle it. But if you go out there and get drunk, something might happen to you.

BEVERLY JONES:

What type of job did your husband have, what did he do for a living?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Domestic. I would come under domestic work, because he raked yards and worked in private homes, you know. Raking the yard, yard work—mostly yard work.

BEVERLY JONES:

Let me go back to 1922, the family moves to Durham and you stay here for awhile, and then you move back. Well, the family moves back to Manning in 1925, and then later granddaddy brings you back up here.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Yeah.

BEVERLY JONES:

How old were you when you came to Durham, can you recall. I'm quite sure you were very young.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

The first time or the last time granddaddy brought us here.

BEVERLY JONES:

The first time.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

The first time. Wasn't even in school. Yeah, wait a minute. Yes I was. I'm getting confused. Yes, we were in school, because I went to Hillside. I can see some of my teachers now. One of 'em was so mean. I went to Hillside.

BEVERLY JONES:

Well, maybe you were

[TAPE 2, SIDE A]

BEVERLY JONES:

You know for the early part of your life.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Exciting.

BEVERLY JONES:

What, the buildings.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Exciting, where we lived at there was something going on all the time. People cutting up and going on. Over there on Poplar Street. I can see that now. We had some nice elderly neighbors, but it was very exciting.

BEVERLY JONES:

So what do you mean, cutting up, people fighting?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Yeah, fighting and going on. [Laughter]

BEVERLY JONES:

So the farm was quite…

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Dull. Very dull. [Laughter]

BEVERLY JONES:

So this was exciting.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Exciting. Being children we didn't know any better. It was very exciting to stand up and see somebody, you know, lay somebody out. Very exciting. And some neighbors, that wasn't so nice, using them kind of words, you know. They was very exciting to us. But, it didn't rub off on us.

BEVERLY JONES:

So he made sure of that.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

He made very, very sure of that. But to us it was very exciting, you know, even though …

BEVERLY JONES:

Well how was it like living in the city with people near you. Because you were on the farm and people were maybe miles apart from you.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Oh yeah.

BEVERLY JONES:

Did you get adjusted to living so close to individuals.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Yeah, yeah. Very, very much so. Because we was fortunate enough—despite the exciting people that did things they shouldn't have did, we had some nice elderly neighbors. Very friendly. Older people lived near us on the same street. They were very friendly and very nice.

BEVERLY JONES:

You were renting?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Yeah, we were renting. They were, all of us were renting. Those houses torn right round there on Poplar Street. That's where my mother died, the second house from the corner. And I think I carried Louise by to show it to her before they tore 'em down. And another thing, the show was right round the corner.

BEVERLY JONES:

Oh, the movie house.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

The movie house.

BEVERLY JONES:

So everything was exciting. [Laughter]

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Yeah. Bakery, movie house, bakery, a barber shop, and all that, right there in Hayti. If we wanted anything, we'd go around there to the bakery, get it. Wanted to go to the show, go right down to the corner. They was right round there. The hosiery mill is right over there, people passing by, going back and forth to work at the hosiery mill. So we were really right in the center. We were right there on Poplar Street. That's right in the center of uptown, almost uptown. 'Cause we wasn't very far from uptown where we were living at that time—where he first carried us when we first came to Durham.

BEVERLY JONES:

What was your first job in Durham?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

At the factory.

BEVERLY JONES:

Okay, so Liggett and Myers. Do you recall when you began working there?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

I'd say '28 or '29.

BEVERLY JONES:

And what type of job?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

What I was doing—mostly sweeping. I couldn't stem the tobacco, I just couldn't do it. But they had women stemming, but I never was a stemmer.

BEVERLY JONES:

Were the women that were stemming, were they all black or were they white women?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Oh, on that side, I'm going to tell it like it is now. On that side where we were working, black women did all the hard and nasty work, that's what I say. On the cigarette side, where they wore those white uniforms and made sure no blacks worked over there.

BEVERLY JONES:

So what type of hard and nasty jobs did black women have to perform?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Okay, I'm going to describe it for you. Okay, you know, they had a season of year—they'd send tobacco in sheets from Georgia. It'd come in sheets, full of sand, full of everything. It was their job to take this tobacco out of the sheets and put it on a machine. You could just lift it out—you didn't have to—just as much as you want, and feed it in this belt that ran down to a large machine. And then the next job when the green season was over for Georgia leaves from Georgia, you'd work in the fall and take in this tobacco off a large thing called a hartege. It was already tied up and dried out and you'd take it off and feed it in a machine. The same thing, same type of work, wasn't nasty and dirty because it had been seasoned out. And you'd work up there, it was so hot the sweat would be—I never did perspire much, you know. Sweat would be—you'd see the women coming out there, you couldn't find a dry place on 'em. For water. I'm telling you 'cause I was up there. But I never did sweat much, I don't know why. Some boys teased me once, they said, you're higher brown. I said, maybe I am. But I worked with that, you know, condition.

BEVERLY JONES:

There was no ventilation.

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Yeah, the windows were open but the building was so large. No air conditioning.

BEVERLY JONES:

So the women—now you did sweeping, so that meant that you swept up all the …

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Yeah, swept the floors, sweep around the harteges, and just had a broom sweeping and getting up the waste tobacco that didn't get in the machine.

BEVERLY JONES:

How much did you get paid?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Well I can remember when I worked, that was for twenty cent a hour. Twenty cents per hour.

BEVERLY JONES:

Do you know the women that were doing the stemming, did they get more?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Well, you see in stemming you could make as much as you want. They gave you so much per pound. That's where you had it on the others. If you could stem a lot, you got a lot of money because they were paying you per pound to stem. There was a lot of money in that for stemming. Oh I couldn't stem, I never was a stemmer. You take that tobacco out and you pile it on a sheet and they weigh it. The man write it down. If you have a hundred pounds and three hundred or four hundred or what have you. But the stemmers made good money because—but you had to really stem the count because—in other words, you was mostly your own boss, depending on how much you could stem. That's they way that worked.

BEVERLY JONES:

Let me see, let me go back. You mentioned that it was so hot that women would come out just perspiring and their clothes would be wet. Was it healthy working in the factory at that time?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

I've often—now I'm glad you brought that up, I'm so glad. I've often wondered about that, because of the fact that the working conditions wasn't all that pleasant. I'm glad you brought that up. And the dust, there was a lot of dust. They had something to kind of keep the dust down, but naturally regardless of how cautious they were you couldn't—they couldn't have something to accumulate all that dust so that it wouldn't get to the workers. I'm quite sure. I and everybody else inhaled some of it.

BEVERLY JONES:

Were there any women that became very sickly because …

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Yeah.

BEVERLY JONES:

What, do you recall what were some of the complaints, coughing, whatever?

ANNIE MACK BARBEE:

Some of 'em became sickly, some of 'em would get too hot and fall out. Oh yeah I'm glad you brought—they had salt tablets in a dispenser on the wall. When you get too hot you go there and get a—I distinctly